


The Middle of Nowhere, Wales

by junkshopdisco



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkshopdisco/pseuds/junkshopdisco
Summary: On the way back from their roadtrip around Wales, the boys encounter a rain apocalypse. Colin makes a playlist to die to, KitKats get squashed, Bradley changes his name to Margaret, and they find out exactly how much room there isn’t in the back of a rented Ford Focus.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Absolutely 100% fictional and simply the product of my twisted imagination. No offence is intended, and similarity to any actions, relationships and events in the real world is entirely coincidental.  
>  **Note:** 3,800 words. Written for kinkmemerlin, where one of the anonymice tempted me by wanting Bradley and Colin making out in the car. 
> 
> **PS**. in the wake of LJ's latest wave of homophobic fuckery I'm uploading my old stuff here. Soz for the spam/memory lane welcomes careful drivers, delete as appropriate.

‘So what now?’ Colin says.

Bradley peers out at the rain, thinking that this is what people mean when they say, _it’s bucketing down_ , that it’s literally like someone throwing buckets of water at the windows. He has no idea where they are, other than that they’re somewhere in Wales on one of Colin’s _scenic routes_ , and that they’re trapped in a lay-by he pulled into because he couldn’t see the road and was afraid he was going to accidentally Thelma and Louise them off a cliff. He pictures the faces of the production team, who’d been reluctant enough to let him drive them both home without the prospect of an almighty storm, thinks that they’re probably crapping themselves at the thought of him and Colin dead at the bottom of a ravine in a rented Ford Focus because no-one signed a health and safety form absolving them of responsibilty for that.

He turns off the engine, sits back with a sigh, and tells Colin they should probably wait for it to blow over. Colin glances sceptically at the windscreen, where the rain is like the jet at a car wash, and says, ‘Blow over? It’s, like, the apocalypse. That doesn’t _blow over_.’ His voice is high and very Irish in mock panic, and Bradley offers him a weary breath of fake resignation in return for his efforts.  
‘I suppose we’ll just have to sit here and wait to _die_ , then.’

Colin tuts, undoes his seatbelt and says, ‘Damn. I don’t have a playlist for dying.’  
‘That’s a horrible oversight, Colin.’  
‘I know. I’m sorry.’

Colin reaches for his iPod, starts feverishly scrolling and pressing, and after a moment Bradley says, ‘are you _actually_ making one?’  
‘Of course I am. We agreed my contribution to this whole thing was music and map reading, and I can’t map read if we’re going nowhere so it’ll have to be a list of tunes to die to, Welsh rain apocalypse version.’

Bradley suppresses a smile at his earnest expression, and laughter rises in his throat because of course _Colin_ would have appropriate tunes to die to in the middle of nowhere, Wales. He says, ‘Just – don’t make it too depressing.’  
‘You don’t think the soundtrack to our impending demise _should_ be a bit depressing?’  
‘No,’ Bradley says. ‘I mean if I’m going to die that’s bad enough without you making me listen to Joy Division _as well_.’

Colin rolls his eyes and mutters something that may or may not be the word _heathen_ , and a few minutes later he selects the playlist and fills the car with Talking Heads’ _The Road To Nowhere_. He sits back, wriggling down on the seat until he can rest his knees against the glove box, crosses his arms over the front of his top, and looks at Bradley, waiting for his verdict. Bradley leaves him hanging for a moment, but when Colin’s eyebrows inch up in a pointed, _well?_ he says, ‘It’s completely insane that you have the perfect track for this.’  
‘Thank you.’

Colin grins smugly and Bradley laughs, thinking that it could be worse, a lot worse, because at least if they _do_ die here there’s a chance that the last thing they’ll do on earth together is laugh. 

A couple of tracks pass by, some new wave song about heaven and an indie rock thing Colin’s always listening to about going out and lights, and he thinks about the last week and everywhere they’ve been and that actually Colin is the perfect person to be trapped in a Ford Focus in a rain apocalypse with. Moments with Colin are never dull, whatever else they contain, and Bradley wonders why it took him a while to see that. They sit quietly, listening to _It’s The End of The World As We Know It_ and the cacophonous storm as it batters the roof, and eventually Colin looks over and pokes his arm. His other hand is buried in the pocket of his top and he looks sort of affectedly bored and childish, which Bradley knows from experience means he’s plotting something, or, more worryingly _has_ plotted something that’s about to come to fruition. ‘What?’ he says.  
‘Nothing. You just seemed bored.’  
‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Colin. You’ve got that look.’  
‘What look?’  
‘ _That_ look. That – impish look. You poked with purpose. Potentially nefarious purpose.’

Colin tuts in mock offence and looks away. He manages to hold it for a moment but only a moment, gives in and sits up. ‘All right,’ he says, and when he leans in, his eyes are so desperately amused but his face so studiedly serious that Bradley doesn’t know whether or not he should be genuinely scared. ‘I _was_ going to give you this as a _thank you for the lift_ when we got back to London, but if we’re going to die – ’ Colin pulls his clenched fist out of his pocket, something that looks like a ring but isn’t around his middle finger. ‘Now, I bought you this at that really Welsh place with all the tacky stuffed dragons – I did want to get you one that said _Bradley_ but apparently your name is, like, too modern for Wales. So then I thought I’d get you one that said _Arthur_ , but they didn’t have that either, so I’m afraid from now on your name is gonna have to be – ’ He opens his fist. ‘ - Margaret.’

Swinging suspended from his finger is a key ring with a dragon on it, smoke billowing from its mouth and forming the letters. It’s ridiculous – and Bradley cracks up – but in the next moment he thinks that actually it’s perfectly Colin, that _of course_ Colin would buy him a thank you gift for driving him home, and _of course_ it would be a horrendously tacky key ring with a dragon and the name _Margaret_ on it. Colin waggles his finger and makes the dragon bounce. ‘D’you like it?’

Bradley stops laughing long enough to say, ‘It’s literally the best present anyone has ever given me, Colin,’ and takes it, fishing out his house keys and attaching it straight away.  
‘Well it cost me a fortune, so – I think Margaret sort of suits you and you should adopt it as a stage name.’

Bradley’s _shut up_ gets drowned out by a fresh whip of rain and his own snigger, and he sets his keys down in the plastic holder under the stereo, the dragon and the word _Margaret_ looking up at him and making him grin because actually it’s pretty wicked of Colin to get him something.

‘I don’t know if now it should be more of a _sorry I navigated us into an apocalypse_ gift,’ Colin says. ‘Or should I have got you a pencil with someone else’s name on for that? I don’t know what the etiquette is.’

When Bradley looks at him Colin’s smiling, and it’s excitable but almost shy too, his eyes alive like he’s pleased with himself for making Bradley laugh, his chin dipped and his head tilted like he’s not sure it’s allowed. It’s not an uncommon Colin look, and sometimes Bradley thinks Colin’s testing something, waiting for something, and it always makes him slightly nervous because it’s almost like flirtation. He’s never sure if it’s the flirtation or the fact that it’s only almost that causes the jitters in his stomach, and lately he’s suspected it’s distinctly the latter, so to cover his uncertainty he says, ‘Have we got anything to eat?’ 

Colin says something about KitKats and Bradley remembers they’re on the back seat. He goes to grab them at the same instant Colin turns to see where they are, and his forehead collides with a _thwack_ against the particularly bony bit of Colin’s temple. There’s a blaze of stardust behind Bradley’s eyes, a sharp reminder that it’s not possible for two bodies to occupy the same space, and he squints at Colin, one eye closed against the pain. Colin presses the heel of his hand to his temple with an, ‘Ow,’ as he laughs and winces at the same time. Bradley’s first impulse is to think it’s hilarious, but Colin lets out a tiny groan, tucks his chin towards his chest and presses harder like it might actually really hurt. ‘Your head is like, really hard,’ he says, adds a small, stuttering laugh.

Bradley goes with his second impulse. He leans in, prises Colin’s fingers away and says, ‘Let me see,’ even though he knows there’s not likely to be anything _to_ see. He tilts Colin’s chin up slightly, angling his face into what light there is, pushes Colin’s hair back with the fingers of his other hand, surveying the skin beneath. There’s a red patch that’ll maybe turn into a bruise, but suddenly he’s not thinking about any of that and doesn’t even have the mental space to be uncertain, because all his thoughts have been overtaken by an awareness of how close Colin is and that they’re both breathing a bit fast probably because he has Colin’s face in his hands. He lets his fingers drift away from Colin’s chin, and if Colin minds that the others linger on his temple he doesn’t say. 

Up close Colin looks at once impossibly fragile and immensely solid, and Bradley touches his skin lightly, watching his reactions. Colin swallows, and after a moment seems to forget why he’s doing what he’s doing and just looks at him and says, ‘Are _you_ all right?’  
‘I pretty much get hit on the head professionally, Colin. I’m fine.’  
‘Explains a lot about you, actually, that you’re used to being concussed.’  
‘Are you calling me stupid, Colin?’  
‘Nope. I’m just saying that head injuries might make some of your peculiarities a bit more excusable, Margaret.’

Colin’s tone flickers with that same _almost_ flirtation and he laughs, quiet and soft and somehow warm, and Bradley joins in because the way Colin says the word _Margaret_ is unavoidably funny. It takes him a second to realise that Colin hasn’t moved away and actually in laughing he’s closer, and while that realisation and what it might mean digs in Bradley says, ‘Well I guess if you can manage the word _peculiarities_ and make fun of me, you’re fine.’  
‘I guess I am.’ Colin pauses, hesitating, and adds a quiet, ‘I suppose you could always find another way to make me see stars. If you wanted.’

Any _almost_ disappears from the flirtation in his eyes, and when Colin smiles it’s in cautious invitation. It makes a reckless impulse flare in Bradley’s stomach, and he tilts Colin’s chin again, this time towards him, waits for Colin to protest and say that’s not what he meant, but he doesn’t. So Bradley presses his lips to Colin’s smile. He intends it to be fleeting, changes his mind immediately because Colin’s mouth feels really nice curved against his like that. He parts his lips just slightly to see what will happen, and Colin makes a tiny noise of not-quite surprise that’s replaced after a second by the soft flicker of his tongue against Bradley’s bottom lip and a distinct press back.

And that’s it. Any thoughts of fleeting or seeing or uncertainty disappear in a jolt of lust, and his fingers forgo Colin’s chin for the back of his neck while Colin’s tangle in his hair and pull their mouths more firmly together. Everything bursts into a new, more intense kind of reality, the rain louder and Colin’s mouth warmer and his lips _quite clearly_ the best thing in the entire universe, and everything collides in Bradley’s head as the words, _oh my god_. As kisses go it’s a desperate conflux of enthusiasm and tongues, and Bradley slides his hand to Colin’s waist, trying to bring him closer with a fistful of his top. Just as he’s doing it he remembers that the handbrake’s in the way, and when he pulls back to shoot an irritated breath at it Colin laughs against his mouth.

Their foreheads fall together in a much softer press and they look at each other. Colin’s fingers are still in his hair and his eyes are wide and glassy but sort of pleased with themselves again, and Bradley has no idea if he’s supposed to be embarrassed or apologetic or neither. He’s still trying to pick an emotion when Colin says, ‘If you were trying to kiss it better you missed by, like, eight inches.’

Bradley tries to say something witty or at least coherent, but his brain’s still stuck on _oh my god_ , and so all he manages is, ‘Head injury. Peculiarities.’ 

He thinks Colin’s going to laugh, but instead his face turns almost serious and he raises an eyebrow and says, ‘you want to get in the back?’

The words render breathing like a normal human being impossible, and before either of them can change their minds, Bradley grabs Colin’s wrist and manoeuvres himself arse-first through the gap between the seats. He manages to land all right, but as soon as he pulls Colin through after him they seem to have far too many legs and not enough room, end up in a tangle of limbs, Colin scrabbling for the parcel shelf behind his head to stay upright without kneeing him in the balls. Colin straightens up too much, bangs his head on the roof with a small _ouch_ and a breathy _ouff_ as he collapses on Bradley’s shoulder, and in an effort to make room for him Bradley shifts, forgetting how close he is to the window until his elbow whacks it. He mutters a swearword against Colin’s collarbone, and somehow that turns into a mutual laugh at their ineptitude, but that’s followed by a moment of clarity where he realises that the only way it’s going to work is for him to sit more or less normally in the middle with Colin on his thighs. Colin seems to have the same idea, shifts his leg and fits his knees to Bradley’s hips, and as Colin settles with his hands on his chest and looks at him, Bradley thinks it’s probably a fair deal more intimate than either of them really intended. But that seems to matter less than that Colin’s leaning in and smiling at him, and with his hair a mess and his eyes sort of dazed he looks adorable. Or not _adorable_ so much, but like someone he might very well adore. 

Colin gently presses him against the seat, moves Bradley’s hair back from his face, and says, ‘Hello,’ quiet and private, little more than breath against his lips. It feels like the sexiest word in the English language, and when Colin replaces the word with a kiss, sort of slow and heavy and lingering all at the same time, Bradley closes his eyes, trying to resist releasing the moan that’s trapped in his throat. Colin’s fingers scuff the skin above the neck of his t shirt and he kisses him again, a little more insistently, a little more lastingly, shifting against him in a way that suggests he’s trying really hard to stay in control and not go too far too fast. It’s sexy as hell, actually, and Bradley stretches up into the kiss, making it deeper, finding Colin’s tongue with his and coaxing a faint groan out of Colin’s mouth. 

It’s a totally different kind of kiss to the one they just shared. They take their time, alternating small, exploratory pecks and sweeping tongues that retreat before they can get carried away, and Colin’s lips are as soft and deft as Bradley always suspected they might be. He inches his fingers underneath Colin’s top because he can’t resist it, and Colin’s hands drift down his arms and back up to cup his neck in approval or reassurance or just because they want to. It’s only when it’s actually happening that Bradley realises how much he’s wanted this, how much he’s wanted Colin, how much he’s longed for all the almost flirting to be full, and he wraps his arms around Colin’s waist and draws him in so he can’t disappear into a blip of imagination. 

For a moment that’s enough, and he’s blissfully content with the aching, deliberate pace of Colin’s kisses and the gentle pressure of his body. But Colin lips drift away, fingers tilting his head back until his tongue can press with devilish precision to the underside of his jaw, like he already knows that’s the quickest way to drive him crazy, and his mouth finds the place on Bradley’s neck that makes his entire body wobble and feel utterly alive. The kisses on his neck get hotter and wetter until they make Bradley’s stomach cave in, and any control he might have had reveals itself to be an illusion as he takes Colin’s face in his hands and drags his lips back to his mouth because he can’t stand not to. Colin groans when he kisses him harder, and everything shifts into an entirely new kind of intense, like before they were playing and now they’re actively engaged in turning each other on. They kiss in a hurried rush of sensation, like they’re going to run out of time and they have to do it all now, and it’s dizzying and urgent and makes his skin absolutely long to be touched. 

Colin’s fingers dig into his shoulders, and Bradley runs his hands roughly over Colin’s thighs, grasps his hip, moves more firmly against him, making the words, _oh, fuck_ escape from Colin’s lips. It spawns an amorphous desire for _more_ that seems to fire through both of them, and by unspoken agreement they fumble to the side and awkwardly reposition themselves horizontally. Their legs don’t fit – at all – but Bradley hitches one of Colin’s up around him and Colin shifts beneath him and when they press back together it feels really, _really_ good. Colin’s hands come up around his neck and twist into his hair, tugging him down, and the kiss is the sort that’s demanding and makes the world go hazy. It’s haphazard and breathless and Colin’s body beneath his is warm and presses in all the right places and makes him feel desperately close to coming in his jeans. It’s a delicious kind of unbearable, the kind he always wants to prolong, which he supposes is fortunate because he knows they’re not really going to do anything more than this in the back of a Ford Focus rented by the BBC in a flurry of paperwork. 

He’s not sure how long they spend lost to the flare and remit of desire, because it simultaneously feels like they’ve been there forever and nowhere near long enough, and he thinks that kissing Colin would mess with anyone’s sense of perspective. They slow back down, settle for easy and light, and when he can bear to pull away Bradley kisses Colin’s chin and his jaw and makes him murmur incoherently. When he gets to his ear he whispers, ‘Hello,’ and Colin laughs, his breath a hot tickle on the side of his face.

He eases back to look at him, and Colin’s dishevelled and smiling sort of coyly but not really. He says, ‘So what now?’ and Bradley considers it, all the possibilities, the declarations he knows would be unwise and some words including _maybe we should go out or something_ that he’s not quite brave enough to let out, yet. 

He looks at the slightly fogged windows, realises Colin’s Rain Apocalypse playlist is slightly more audible than it was, and goes with, ‘Do you want the good news, or the bad?’  
‘The good first?’  
‘It’s stopped raining.’  
‘Oh. And the bad?’  
‘I think we might have squashed the KitKats.’

Colin laughs, tucking his face into Bradley’s neck and making them both shake. When he pulls away, he leans his head against the door and says, ‘You know we’d be really bad in a real apocalypse. We should have rationed those.’  
‘Probably.’ 

They smile at each other and something that he knows will remain unsaid for a while radiates, some acknowledgement that maybe this should be weird but it’s not, for either of them. And so in keeping with that, Bradley says what he would if the thing that just happened hadn’t at all: ‘Did you ever have one of those KitKats that’s all chocolate?’ 

Colin looks at him, puzzled with the expectation that he’s about to be amused. ‘Yeah, why?’  
‘They taste so amazing – so much better than ordinary KitKats. Why don’t they just make those?’

Colin considers him for a moment, and when he finds an answer rolls his eyes like it’s obvious and says, ‘Because it’s the surprise of finding one that makes it so awesome. If you know it’s coming it’s not as good.’ 

He sort of smirks, and Bradley knows he’s not really just talking about KitKats, so he kisses him lightly on the temple, where they bashed heads, lets his lips linger there far longer than he intended. When he pulls away he says, ‘We should probably get going. I don’t _actually_ want to die here.’  
‘OK.’ Colin grins and adds, ‘Can I say it?’  
‘Say what?’  
‘The line I’ve been wanting to say, like, all day.’ He’s irresistible, so Bradley nods, and Colin says, ‘Home, James.’ Bradley groans into a grimace. ‘What? You want me to go back to calling you _Margaret_?’  
‘Not particularly.’  
‘Then drive me home, James.’

Bradley sighs with fake resignation, sits up, pulling Colin along with him and says, ‘This is how it’s going to be, is it? You buy me a key ring and snog me on the backseat and you think that’s enough to turn me into your personal chauffeur?’  
‘Pretty much. And I mean you did say it was the best present _ever_.’ 

Bradley rolls his eyes, squeezes back into the driver’s seat, and the dragon and the word _Margaret_ stare up at him from beneath the stereo and make him smile. Colin follows him and lands on the seat with an _ouff_ , and as he reaches for his iPod and says something about no longer needing the Music To Die To playlist and finding something more appropriately cheerful, Bradley thinks that if this is pretty much how it’s going to be, that’s very much all right with him.


End file.
